Hammer and Crucible by Cameron Cooper (easy books to read txt) 📗

personal details—enough for me to get by for a few hours.

The performance was scheduled for eight hours from now. The nightline was due six hours from now. I had no intention of giving a real performance. I am as graceful as a block of ice. It was going to be close, though…

Dalton put the dropship down right on top of the marker and shut it down.

An articulated arm of metal rings extended out toward the airlock on the closest side of the ship. We watched it unfold and lengthen. There was nothing between the rings.

“Perfect,” I breathed. “A molecular barrier.”

Dalton grinned. “Better you than me.” He raised a brow. “You look fantastic, by the way. Red suits you.”

I glared at him.

“You should pout your lips when you do that,” he added. “Then you’ll have Sagai down perfectly.” He reached and prodded the control panel. “Door’s open, Colonel. Enjoy.”

I consoled myself with the fact that I didn’t have to go out in a suit made of nanobots. I climbed down the steps into the fragile atmosphere inside the molecular barrier, to await the welcoming committee—a bunch of uniformed men doing their best not to drool.

I took a very deep breath, plastered a smile on my highly rouged lips and waved enthusiastically, while letting my hips cock coyly.

It was a very long six hours.

I’m sure there were women on the station, but I never saw one. Even the lesbians stayed away because Sagai’s core fans were heterosexual men with impossible fantasies. I did my best to tease them while avoiding the wandering hands and colliding bodies, and constantly checked the time.

A festive barracks dinner was provided, with me at the head of the table next to the station commander, Asucar, who was due for rejuvenation.

A great fuss was made of making sure I was introduced with suitable hand holding and cheek kissing to every senior officer on the base of the appropriate gender. One of them was Moroder, who seemed just as taken by Sagai as everyone else. He was a thin man with a proportionally thin moustache and mousy hair swept back from a high forehead. His eyes were as sharp as his nose.

I made sure to rub up against him with no more or less fervor than I had the other officers.

I’ve never been as eager to escape a regimental dinner as I was to plead for time to prepare and get out of that room. I was escorted by Moroder himself to a little room with a counter and a hastily erected mirror. “The common room is just on the other side of the corridor,” Moroder explained to me. “We will be running your retrospective to…what do you say? Warm up the audience? We have put the lights as you requested, and the first row of benches is twenty-five meters from the back of the room. It isn’t much of a stage, I’m afraid.”

“All the world is a stage,” I said blithely. “I am a professional, Lyle. I can adapt.” I fluttered my overly long lashes at him.

He nodded. “I will leave you to prepare.” He pointed to my duffel bag in the corner, which contained more makeup, teeny costumes I had no intention of donning and items which would have been mistaken as stage props by whoever searched through the bag while I was eating. The stage props had raised my brows and made me even more thankful I didn’t have to actually perform for the hyenas out there. I could hear the buzz building in the common room from here, and there was still ninety minutes before the performance was due to start.

“Thank you!” I called after Moroder. “Oh, where can I find you, if I need something?”

Moroder pointed down the corridor outside the door. “My office is along there. My name is on it.”

“You won’t be in the auditorium?” I pouted.

“I will be there for your performance,” he assured me and left, closing the door behind him.

I gave him time to walk away. While I was waiting, I moved over to the duffel bag and pulled out an elongated prop, grimacing at the size and shape. I found the reset button on the base, pushed my thumbnail against it and shoved.

The prop melted. I nearly dropped it, got both hands underneath it and watched the nanobots turn into a perfect facsimile of a Ranger’s standard issue combat knife. More of Lyth’s creative programming.

I pushed the knife into the built-in sheath on my hip. The feathers hid the hilt. I eased open the door and looked up and down the corridor. This would be the hardest part. I had to move around the station without drawing men like a magnet. The feathers and ruffles and transparent fabric were not even close to discreet.

The air lock was in the opposite direction to Moroder’s office. I went in that direction…and didn’t meet a soul.

Then it hit me. Everyone was in the auditorium, waiting for Sagai to appear.

Five minutes later, I was inside the utility room with the airlock. The airlock itself was tiny—barely enough for one man to cycle through at a time. That was a good thing in this case. It would be quicker to fill with air once Dalton stepped into the chamber.

I waited, my heart running hard, all my senses straining to hear anyone approach. I remember time stretching out like this on other missions and battles—particularly on the run-up to the start.

The lock clicked and hissed as the atmosphere vented. I held still, waiting to see if any alarms sounded, or people came running to investigate.

Nothing.

I moved over to the wheel and waited for the green light, then cranked the wheel. It was heavy. No accidental spin would open that door. It took deliberate effort.

The outer door jutted a few centimeters, then a black glove slid over the edge of it and hauled it open enough to let Dalton’s black-suited figure through. He turned and shut the door, hauling on the interior wheel, then cranked